


Faulty Buzzer

by unholygrass



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Child Death, Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Friendship, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Young Hank Anderson, computer glitches, no beta we die like men, the drabble that exploded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unholygrass/pseuds/unholygrass
Summary: Connor glitches out and can't wake up. Hank finds him unresponsive on the couch and remembers the last time he had to carry a son.





	Faulty Buzzer

**Author's Note:**

> This was a drabble that exploded into seventeen pages so good fucking luck guys. Its a little OOC here and there but it was fun to write and the concept made me warm and fuzzy-- at least it did until that little dark turn down there but I couldn't help myself.   
> It starts out a little rough but I got vibing about a page in.  
> Spell check on google is being difficult for me so if you see any blaring mistakes please let me know so I can fix them.   
> This has no beta. Read at your own risk.  
> All technobabble is just my limited knowledge of computers and coding and is in no way accurate. Also I don't know much about Simon from what I've seen so I took the liberty to give him some character, it's just my interpretation and may not be correct.   
> A lot of my personal headcanons also made their way in here so if you're curious about anything feel free to ask!

The night before is deceivingly normal. 

 

“Alright, either you or the dog sits on the floor, but make some fuckin’ space.” Hank’s shouldering his way over to the couch, beer in hand as he switches off the light to the kitchen. He kicks half heartedly at where Connor’s legs fall in the path. The android moves just enough to let him by while simultaneously opening his arms wide and leaning back into the plush cushions. Sumo stood from where he lied next to Connor and clambered into his lap and onto his chest instead, flopping all one hundred and seventy pounds down with a huff and leaving enough room for Hank to sit. Connor had effectively disappeared behind the mass of thick fur, slender arms wrapping around where Sumo dropped his head on his shoulder. 

 

After a moment of shifting around, Connor had moved enough to see the TV once again while Hank propped his feet up on the coffee table, having snatched the remote while Connor was occupied. He flips through several channels quickly, none of them enticing. Eventually he lands on an old movie—  _ John Wick _ , settling back further into the couch and taking a swig of beer. 

 

He can practically hear Connor analyzing the entire thing, breaking it down and piecing it back together until it could be realistic, focusing in on the fight scenes and testing his own abilities to preconstruct the ending. He tensed in the beginning through the emotional baggage, his hold on Sumo tightening before he loosened up, melting into the couch. 

 

“Can you actually kill someone with a pencil? Will it actually do that much damage?” He speaks up, eyeing the top of Connor’s head over Saint Bernard. 

 

“Do it right, and yes.” Sumo switches shoulders so he can eye Hank. “It would break on the skull, but go for the eye socket and it would pierce the brain.” 

 

“Could you do it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“ _ Have  _ you done it?”

 

“No.” 

 

“Mm.”

 

They sit in companionable silence for awhile longer. 

 

“Would you murder an entire mob if they killed Sumo?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Sumo looks up as his name is spoken, and Connor gives him a slight squeeze. “I think John Wick can teleport.” 

 

“I’m glad no one in Detroit can get anywhere that fast. We’d never solve anything.”

 

They watch as nine armed assassins are laid flat on their asses. 

 

“You’re basically John Wick, Connor.” 

 

The kid doesn’t even try to hide his amused smirk. 

 

By the time the movie drags to an end, Hank’s passed out, head tilted back at an incredible angle while his beer dangled precariously from his fingers. Connor shifted before nudging at Sumo until he finally got the hint and picked himself off the couch to thump onto the floor, padding softly into the kitchen as Connor reached forward and plucked the beer from certain demise, nudging Hank’s side with his knee. “Surely you don’t want to sleep on the couch.” 

 

Hank gave an almighty snort, squinting in the dim light as he reoriented himself, annoyance rolling off of him in waves. Just as his eyes started to drift closed again Connor used the empty beer bottle to nudge him again. “Lieutenant.” 

 

“Yeah, okay, whatever, bugger off.” Connor’s faint smirk was ignored as he started to haul himself up, wincing as his back cracked loudly. “Fuckin old— too fuckin old...” 

 

Connor follows him long enough to know that he wasn’t going to smash into any door frames before heading to the kitchen instead, catching Hank’s faint “Night kid.” as he went. 

 

“Good night Hank.” He deposits the bottle in the recycling, savoring the hazy feeling in his chest as he appreciated a vague sense of domestic bliss. The nights were rarely theirs; he and Hank were often called to various crime scenes and interrogations, debriefings and witness locations. Even when the precinct was quiet, Connor was often wrapped up with Jericho, helping research and draw up action plans with Simon and Markus— without the need to sleep they tended to work late into the night, making his scarce downtime even rarer. 

 

But he prefered it like that anyway. He didn’t do well with idle time and it made his free time even more enjoyable when it came. 

 

He wandered into the hall and opened the spare closest, digging out one of his spare sets of clothes— loose joggers and his light DPD crewneck. After changing he carefully hung up his pressed shirt and jeans, latching the door carefully so it didn’t disturb the quiet, less than to avoid waking Hank. Once the lieutenant was down, he rarely woke unless something truly disrupted him. 

 

While he tended to change more to keep his day clothes from becoming wrinkled, he couldn’t deny the warm comfort of the heavy sweats— his heat sensors didn’t really shoot errors unless the temperatures were dangerous, and while the warmth of the sweats and heated house may be too much for a human even in winter, it just made Connor swell with a fuzzy sense of security. 

 

His behavioural analytics tried to immediately investigate why such things happened, but he shut them off as quickly as they came on. Markus had taught him long ago that sometimes just feeling things was far more enjoyable than understanding  _ why _ he was feeling things. 

 

He grabbed his mp3 player from the desk with some headphones and settled on the couch where Sumo immediately joined him, crawling from one end until he was stretched across Connor’s legs and chest, head resting on his collarbone. 

 

Just like the sweats, Sumo was warm and ridiculously heavy, like he could squash away all of Connor’s worries. He knew weighted blankets were common for many people, but Connor had something even better. He smiled at Sumo, one hand coming to rest on the dog’s back as he put in his headphones, sinking more thoroughly into the worn leather cushions.

 

“Lights off.” 

 

Wrapped in darkness and dog, he started his playlist, something North had recommending last week, and starting shutting down his systems one by one. It was calming to listen to each word and each note methodically, seeking them out and discovering their patterns without the aid of his databases. He prefered to run tests and reboot his systems while his power cells entered recycling mode, a process designed to mimic sleep closely enough that most androids tended to wake to disturbances. He could technically run up to seven days without charging, but it was taxing and he became snappish and frustrated after three. He prefered to do so each night when the rest of the world slept, if nothing else but to keep himself from falling into a pit of existential crisis. 

 

He follows the twists of the music, vaguely surprised that North’s tastes included soft lofi when all he had heard her sing was newer hip hop and R&B. It’s low enough that he settles quickly, lulled into peace by the rhythmic breathing of Sumo on his chest. Eventually he’s relaxed enough to enter standby, and he drifts off all at once, eyes closing of their own accord. 

 

——

 

Hank was perhaps the perfect antonym for ‘morning person’. He tended to wake with tempers at loud alarms, baring teeth like he could intimidate time into sparing him a few more minutes. It almost always took four alarms to get him sitting up, and more often than not it took Connor rudely rousing him via bright lights or confiscated blankets before he found the willpower to face the day. He prefered to skip breakfast and guzzle coffee until he felt human again, but Connor had a habit of forcing a protein bar into him lately before he got his mind pieced together enough to argue with him. 

 

The little shit was always aware of it too. He  _ knew  _ that Hank lived in a haze until 8AM, and the brat took advantage of his fugues until he got what he wanted Hank to do— be it shave or eat or actually take out the trash from the bathroom that he said he would do days ago. Connor didn’t get tired, not until the fifth day of activity without rest, and even then he only got grumpy because he wasn’t processing well. It was always difficult for Hank to grasp just how the kid could be dressed and imacuate at 7AM, already working at the kitchen table until Hank caught up. 

 

Some part of him thought it was infuriating, but the other parts were just annoyed. 

 

True to form, this particular morning he failed to adhere to his blaring alarms, practically knocked into a coma from the comfort of his bed and dark bedroom. Some subconscious form of his mind ignored the alarms simply because Connor rarely let him be late, even if it meant he’d have to take his coffee to go.  

 

Instead he wakes up at ten o’ five, disoriented and groggy, rancid taste in his mouth and a bad feeling in his gut. One glance at his phone confirmed that he was two hours late to the station, bad mood tripling instantly before his mind grasped the implications. 

 

_ Connor had not woken him.  _

 

He threw off his comforter in one swift movement, already moving to the door before his feet even hit the ground.

 

_ Connor would not leave for the precinct without him unless he was angry with him, and last night had been enjoyable with companionship, not stiff with the conflict they sometimes fell into.  _

 

_ Connor had not woken him.  _

 

He throws open his door, ignoring the loud bang it makes against the wall as he gazes in the empty bathroom and kitchen before rounding on the couch were Connor recharged, panic seizing his chest— 

 

The kid is right there, cradled by the cushions with Sumo curled into his side— but something is wrong, because Connor always woke up before him, and the door should have stirred him— hell the kid woke up last week because there was some cat meowing in the backyard— 

 

“Connor— hey—” He shoos Sumo away, but the disturbance doesn’t rouse the kid either. He kneels down quickly, ignoring the way his knees pop when he drops, hands coming up to Connor’s arm. “Connor, we’re late, wake up.” He gives him a fierce shake, the panic from before practically suffocating him now. “Connor! Come on fucker—Hey!” He grabs both his shoulders, jostling him completely, even pulling him up off the couch some— hoping maybe this is just some bug, he’d wake up, he would— slaps him firmly, dread making his stomach roll and rush up into his throat. 

 

He reaches quickly, grasping his jaw and turning it so he could see his LED— 

 

It’s dark. Colorless. Dead.

 

The fear boils over into something far more primal. It’s a baseball bat to the stomach, a stomp on the chest. “Oh god— don’t— don’t do this to me kid—” Surely Hank’s not breathing, because the pain in his lungs can’t be from anguish alone—  _ not again, not again, not again, surely fate can’t be so cruel—  _

 

And then the LED pulses once, the faintest of blues that Hank wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching it because  _ his life did depend on it.  _

 

All the air in his lungs comes out as a choked sob as he leans over Connor once more, tracking the stupid LED with burning eyes— it blinks once every five seconds, barely strong enough to even be seen against Connor’s pale skin. 

 

But it’s there, and it’s on. Connor was alive. 

 

He feels like maybe he just ran a marathon, and perhaps he had actually been holding his breath after all because he feels winded and sucks air in greedily. Connor was still alive, but something was obviously wrong if Connor wasn’t responsive. He would have told Hank if he was going to do some update that would do this to him— keep him under past work. The kid knew how Hank worried and Connor wouldn’t have risked his wrath. 

 

Hank wasn’t going to risk anything now either. He dug around in his pocket and pulled out his phone, Markus’s number already programmed into his contact book. It didn’t ring even once before he got an answer. 

 

“Lieutenant, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Markus sounds as composed as always. 

 

“There’s something wrong with Connor. He went to bed last night and I can't get him to wake up. Nothing is working, I’ve tried everything. He’s completely unresponsive.” 

 

There’s a brief pause, and Hank has to appreciate that Markus didn’t question his inaccurate terminology to androids’ technical charging terms. 

 

“His LED, is it on?” Markus’s voice is reserved, not quite fearful, but hesitant. Markus was also afraid that Connor had simply died— shut down while no one was watching.

 

“Yeah— sorta. It’s dark and flashes blue every now and again.” Hank reaches over and places his hand on the side of Connor’s face, pushing the panic down as he brushed his thumb across his temple right under the LED.

 

“Okay— he’s alive, he’s okay. It sounds like he’s in stasis.” 

 

“He usually wakes up fine from stasis.” He knows his voice is rougher than it should be, but Connor is scaring the fuck out of him and his fear has been manifesting as anger as long as he can remember.

 

“No, Connor goes into  _ standby _ at night to recharge, not stasis. Standby is basically how androids sleep—  _ stasis  _ is deeper, more like anaesthesia— it’s not controlled by the android but by a predetermined code; it's a lot more complicated.” There’s a pause, and the utter lack of background noise reminds Hank that androids took their phone calls directly in their minds. 

 

“So he can’t wake himself up? He’s stuck? ” 

 

“Basically. It’s a state that technicians put androids in for repairs— Cyberlife used it for storage. The cycle shuts down almost all systems except for the deepest processors that control all bodily objectives that keeps the biocomponents alive.” 

 

“Jesus Christ— well what the fuck do I do to get him out of it?” 

 

“There’s not really a command to bring him out of it. I’m going to send over Simon; it’d be a good idea to take Connor to Jericho where they can hook him up to a diagnostic system if Simon can’t access his code at your house. I’m in New York at the moment and will be back by tonight if the issue still persists.” 

 

Hank scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to process everything he’d been told. Connor wasn’t going to be able to wake up on his own; he was stuck as a vegetable until they could get someone to help him. 

 

“How the hell does this even happen?!” His anger at Connor’s misfortune and the heart attack he’d just suffered finally showing its mean face as he stood from the floor. 

 

“I’ve only ever heard of it happening twice before. It has to do with spontaneous mutation in the code. If I’m honest, Connor will be able to explain it better once he’s awake.” 

 

_ Once he’s awake.  _ Markus was very confident that Connor would be up and among them today, despite the fact that the kid could be mistaken for dead if not for his LED. Hank sighed, the tension in his back making his neck ache already, and it was only ten in the morning. 

 

Markus must have read his mind. “He’ll be okay. Connor is very good at rewriting his own code, he’ll be able to pin down the mutation once we get him up. Just keep an eye on him. Simon will be over in ten minutes.” 

 

Hank thanks him and they sign off, but he still has uneasiness squirming in his stomach. He sat on the edge of the couch next to Connor, reaching over to brush away the stubborn hair that always fell onto his forehead and took a moment to appreciate the heat coming from him still. He may  _ look  _ dead, but he still felt alive under his hand. 

 

Stupid kid for worming into his heart. He was too old for this shit; too bitter to love someone so unconditionally— he had buried that part of himself when he buried Cole, then drowned it again in whiskey for good measure, but Connor and his big stupid heart had unearthed it and dusted it off for his own use. 

 

And Hank had loved him all the more for it— for risking his soul all over again. 

 

“Alright you brat, sleep for now, but Jeffery is going to be pissed that we’re playing hooky again.” He reached for his phone again, sending a quick text out—

 

_ Something came up with Connor. Won’t be in today. _

 

He sat back, ready to wait for Simon. He’d only met him once in passing when Connor was working at the city department with all of the Jericho representatives, but from what Connor had told him, the kid was quiet but intelligent and very competent in dealing with the public and androids alike. He had also mentioned that Simon drove too slow, disliked roaches, and enjoyed the pictures the children at Jericho drew for him to put on the office doors. 

 

Or was that Josh?

 

His phone vibrated with a text from Fowler. 

 

_ You know that it’s hard to get any work done if you don’t actually show up to work? _

 

Hank’s fingers danced over the keyboard before his mind even caught up with him, his temperament boiling over.  _ Fuck off. Connor does more work in a day than half that precinct can do in a month. Something’s wrong with him. Call it a sick day.  _

 

The response takes less than a minute.  _ Androids can get sick? _

 

Hank really didn’t have the patience for work at the moment, so he ditched the phone on the table as he got up to let Sumo into the backyard. Fucking Jeffery giving him hell when Connor was his most efficient employee by far. He deserved a real break. He had to admit that Fowler was lenient when Connor had to travel with Markus and miss work to attend senate meetings or the like. Sometimes pressing matters at Jericho overrode Connor’s attachment to the work he did at the precinct, but he always got all of his assigned duties done anyway and had beaten the stations major crimes arrests already once this year. 

 

Fowler could fuck off. 

 

He was drawn out of his brooding when he heard Sumo begin to bark in the back followed by three sharp raps against the front door. He stood automatically and opened it, coming to see the vaguely familiar face of a tall blonde. 

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?” His smile was faint and perfectly polite. 

 

“Yep.” Hank confirmed, opening the door wide and inviting him inside. “Call me Hank.” Simon flashed him a nod but really only had eyes for the couch he made a beeline for. Simon folded down on his legs gracefully as he reached for Connor’s limp hand. 

 

“You told Markus he’s been like this all morning?” 

 

“I’m assuming he went into— uh, standby, last night like he always does. I went to bed before him. When I woke up he was like this.” 

 

Simon nodded again, lips pressed together thinny as his skin peeled back along with the skin on Connor’s hand. “Sometimes androids glitch. We’re hoping that’s all it is. It happened all the time before the revolution and it hasn’t stopped with it.” His eyes fluttered closed. 

 

“But Connor’s one of their latest models— I thought he would have fewer issues.”

 

“He’s also a prototype, which means they haven’t had the same amount of time to work out all the smaller bugs. I’m sure he’s just been modifying his code as he finds them, but this one leaves him kinda out of the loop.” 

 

Hank supposed that made sense. 

 

“Markus is a prototype too, and weird glitches happen to him all the time. It’s not too uncommon. Without Cyberlife’s monopoly on androids anymore, more private techs have started writing updates to help solve glitches in some of the older models, but I think they probably won’t ever really go away.” Simon fell silent, and Hank sat down on the coffee table, letting him work. Considering his own phone bugged out once a week, it shouldn’t be so unbelievable that the androids suffered similar blips— he supposed it wasn’t too unlike how humans became sick, even if the results were vastly different. 

 

Hank really didn’t know what the other kid was doing, but Markus trusted Simon, and Connor trusted both of them, and Hank trusted Connor, so he didn’t pry. 

 

He watched Simon’s brow dip, upper lip sticking out slightly in frustration. Androids were made to imitate humans, but they weren’t made to feel emotions. This meant that they had to learn a lot of their own facial expressions for whatever they were feeling as they went. Connor and Markus had a bad habit of just  _ not  _ showing their emotions on their faces, but Hank could see that wasn’t the case for all androids. He could easily see that Simon wasn’t pleased with his progress. 

 

Sure enough, he pulled back, their synthetic skins swimming back into place at the lack of connection. He laid a hand loosely on Connor’s bicep instead, but the touch wasn’t a purposeful one, just a reassuring contact. 

 

“I probably should have expected it, but Connor’s coding is a lot more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen before. We should take him back to Jericho were we can hook him up and have multiple people working at once so it gets sorted properly.” He sat back on his heels, giving Connor’s arm a squeeze. 

 

“Alright. Let me change.” He picks himself up, eyeing Connor’s slight frame as he ducked down the hallway and into his bedroom. He rubbed a rough hand over his face, putting on some jeans and his shirt from the day before. Grabbing his wallet off the bedside table, he slipped a few quarters into his pocket for Connor and snatched his overcoat. January had not been kind to Detroit, and the snow on the ground insisted on lingering with the single digit temperatures; but Detroit was always cold in the winter and it did little to impede the activity buzzing throughout the city.

 

He paused by his dresser, frown tugging at his lips for a moment before he went to the hall closet where Connor stored his things. He snatched the kid’s beanie from the top shelf and dug out a heavy knitted blanket as well. Androids could feel hot and cold just as humans could, it just didn’t translate to the same discomfort— but Hank knew for a fact that Connor disliked being cold. It triggered something deep in his memories that always had him turning his face away from everyone else.   

 

Simon was waiting for him in the living room with Sumo, a sheepish smile on his lips. “Sorry, I took the liberty of letting him back inside. I hope that’s alright.” 

 

Hank vaguely wondered if all androids adored animals. 

 

“It’s good, I was going to before we left. He was probably wanting to see who was here anyway.” He watched as Simon ran his fingers gently through Sumo’s thick fur before straightening. 

 

“Did you take a cab?” At his nod he stepped around the couch towards Connor. “Alright, we’ll take my car to Jericho.” He tossed the blanket back on the table, bending over and tugging the beanie snugly over Connor’s head. 

 

He saw Simon open his mouth to comment, probably to remind him that the cold wouldn’t bother Connor; but he seemed to think the better of it and instead stepped forward and lifted Connor into a sitting position so Hank could drap the blanket around him tightly. “I can carry him for you.” The unspoken  _ Androids are stronger and don’t get tired  _ went unheard in Hank’s ears. 

 

“No,” He wasn’t sure why at first. Simon was undoubtedly stronger than him, and he was fairly certain that Connor weighed just as much as he looked he did. But he knows that he wants to carry him. Connor was his self appointed responsibility and right now the kid was vulnerable. Hank was going to be there for him, even if it was a little illogical. “I’ll carry him.” 

 

To his credit, Simon stayed silent once again, not questioning his reasoning or his devotion. “Where are your keys?” 

 

Hank shifted his arm under Connor’s shoulders. “On the table. If you could grab my phone too...” 

 

“Sure.” 

 

He left Simon to himself and turned back to the limp bundle of android on his couch. Connor looked healthy enough, but the stillness made Hank tense. Connor was a fidgety kid— always moving or tapping or twitching or playing with his coin or clothes. He was rarely ever still; Hank almost never saw him in standby, and it unsettled him. Connor wasn’t human, but he was so full of life when he twiddled around that Hank never doubted for a moment that he was alive. 

 

Now he could be mistaken for a broken doll, unaware and unresponsive, face slack and body boneless. The androids in the warehouse had been standing, and to his understanding they were in stasis too... or maybe they weren’t. Damned if he knew. Everything he knew about androids he pulled out of his ass or Connor had beaten it into him. 

 

He took a breath and pulled Connor firmly to his chest, scooping up his long legs in his other arm as he hefted him up off the couch, careful to keep the blanket wrapped snugly around him as he did so. Sure enough, the kid weighed a ton. He was a grown ass man— Hank doesn’t know why he had been expecting anything different. He shifted once, getting a better grip as Simon entered the room again. 

 

Connor’s head lolled off his shoulders and back limply, and Hank remembered that the kid was a whole 6’1”. He was tall as hell, and Hank found himself wondering just when he’d gotten so gangly and unmanageable. 

 

Still, he pulled him closer, a ridiculous sense of contentment washing over him as he held Connor just like... 

 

_ He stepped out of the car, closing the door slowly and only hard enough to make sure it latched. A warm summer breeze slipped over his face, carrying the scent of dew and rain with it, a hint of the impending rainstorm hovering in the east. He opened the door to the backseat, peace hovering in the air with each chirp of the crickets and stray croak from a frog in the backyard. Cole was conked out in his carseat, head lolled to the side to rest on the padded wings designed for just the occasion.  _

 

_ Hank had had years to master wrangling Cole’s seat harness without waking him, and in a moment he eased the six year old against his chest, closing the door as he turned toward the house, fumbling with his keys as he went. The lights turned on as he stepped up to the porch, and soon he cradling Cole in one arm and fending off a puppy with the other. Sumo was relentless, following Hank so closely that he could feel his wet nose brush his heels with each step.  _

 

_ The path to Cole’s bedroom was riddled with obstacles, a dinosaur here, toy cars there, even his school backpack was in the hallway. They would have to clean tomorrow.  _

 

_ He doesn’t bother with the light, the spaceship nightlight they left on illuminated the room well enough to make it over to his bed. The covers were still drawn from that morning, and he appreciated the weight of Cole against his chest for a moment longer before setting him down and getting to work on slipping off his sandals. He tossed a blanket over the kid with a slight smile, only to be startled when Sumo finally threw all self restraint to the wind and joined them on the bed.  _

 

_ Hank was fairly certain that he should probably be enforcing some rule about not letting the dog on the furniture, but boy and puppy is as natural as sky and sea, so he lets Sumo curl into a tiny ball against Cole’s side anyway.  _

 

_ The anxiety from work tended to melt away when he saw Cole sleeping. Dealing with shit pay, paranoid bosses, and strung out psychos was worth it if it made Detroit just a little safer the next day for Cole.  _

 

_ He made everything worth it.  _

 

He doesn’t mean to freeze, standing over the couch, Connor clutched tightly to his chest. 

 

The sensation was too familiar, there would be no suppressing these memories now that they were resurfacing. 

 

Just like—  _ an early Wednesday morning, Cole in the back, buckled snugly into his car seat as they drove towards his kindergarten. The heat was on full blast, vents tilted so they hit his face as they drove along Pike Lane. The car smelled like that damn puppy and the Froot Loops that Hank could hear Cole picking at. He was humming some song about sharks when he wasn’t chomping away. They probably needed to talk more about the importance of eating with his mouth closed.  _

 

_ He kept the radio turned down on purpose, ignoring the political reports and ugly aftermath of an earthquake in Taiwan. He’s too tired to bother with looking for any digestible music this early in the morning.  _

 

_ After a moment he flips on his fog lights, glaring at the falling snow as traffic threatened to bottleneck around them. They were already late, and Jeffery was already on his ass about that missing crackhead—  _

 

_ He hears a thump from the backseat, and then another. He turns just enough to see that Cole had kicked off his boots. “No sir, we’re almost there. Put those back on or so help me.” There’s no bite to his voice, and he knows its unless when the kid gives him the biggest shit-eating grin. He reaches just far enough to snatch them from the floorboard, leaning over the console to toss them next to his son. “Go on boy, put those back on. I know you don’t wanna lose your toes.” He keeps his eyes on the road but spares his kid a glance to tug twice on his big toe, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to manage to get them on by the time they arrived at the school. He was just old enough to insist that he’d do it himself, but just young enough to not know how. The ensuing battles tended to last half the morning and ended with Hank doing the work anyway.  _

 

_ He turns back around fully, just about to adjust the heat when there’s a fleeting screech of brakes, and then an unending nothingness instead.  _

 

_ The time passes in vague flashes of movement and sharp glass, but there are no thoughts other than getting to his son.  _

 

_ The last time he takes Cole out of his carseat takes him four minutes total, bloodied fingers scraping over the plastic clasps uselessly as gravity tried to pull them both down to the roof of the car.  _

 

_ He only gets three minutes to cradle him to his chest, to feel his hot forehead against his collarbone and small body safe in his arms. Cole doesn’t have his shoes on still, and for some reason Hank almost starts looking for them, mind scrambled and thoughts tumbling over one another. If they were going to the hospital, Cole was going to need his boots.  _

 

_ At four minutes, someone finds them, and at five they take Cole away.  _

 

The anguish in his chest from earlier is back again with a vengeance that makes him dizzy, and Hank feels for a moment that he might need to sit back down. His vision blurs, and he doesn’t have the free hand to wipe away the evidence of tears. Instead they drop silently into the forest green blanket tucked around Connor, marking his pain in little dark patches. 

 

Simon’s eyeing him discreetly, eventually wandering over and stopping to tug the beanie back down on Connor’s ears, lifting his head so instead of falling back lifelessly it was tucked against Hank’s shoulder before turning to the door and holding it open for them, car keys in hand. “Mind if I drive?” 

 

He was giving him an escape, an out that Hank takes gratefully. He chokes out a confirmation, keeping his head ducked as he braved January’s wrath. The last thing he wanted in that moment was to be behind the wheel.

 

Connor is heavy— far heavier than a six year old, and far lankier too— but the warmth against his collarbone  is identical, as is the snow crunching beneath his boots and the fear bubbling in his throat. 

 

It’s not until he gets into the backseat that he realizes Connor isn’t wearing any shoes. 

 

—— 

 

Jericho always seemed to be thrumming with life everytime Hank found himself there. Despite the rather unappealing exterior, Markus and the crew had made the new Jericho warehouses clean and functional— leaving the industrial interior, a comforting homage to their sunken ship, they split the building into three floors with catwalks and an open center. As the months passed and donations increased, more drywall went up and the massive buildings were split into distinct areas dedicated to specific purposes; offices, classrooms, gathering areas, repair centers, and family spaces.

Even during the day when most of the adults went out to find work wherever they could, the halls were still lively with the sound of children bumbling around in the back classrooms, and any androids too damaged to work filled the common areas with games of chess and cards, talking about whatever passed their fancy, content to just to be safe and to have company. 

 

Simon directed him through an emptier back hall, shielding them from potential onlookers. While he doubted anyone would feel anything but concern or curiosity, he knew for a fact that Connor would be embarrassed if anyone saw him carried like a child into the technicians’ bay. Connor wasn’t prideful about many things, but despite working with Jericho for nearly two years he still had self doubts about his past with the original ship’s demise and how it affected the android’s view of him.

 

Most everyone knew him as the man who had freed thousands of their kind from the lion’s den itself; not as the deviant hunter he was forced to be. But Connor had a deep self-deprecating attitude that they were just starting to break him of— It was almost like the bastards at CyberLife had programed him to always assume something was his fault so he was constantly self motivated to improve by any means necessary. As much as Hank hated it, when they did so he knows they never considered the consequences because Connor wasn’t supposed to ever feel the mental strain from such a mindset anyway. 

 

As it was, the technicians’ bay was perhaps the quietest part of Jericho in that moment. Hank could hear the buzz of distant computers and some chatter down the hall, but little else. Simon guided him to a curtained off area with a large padded stretcher laid low with multiple sets of monitors surrounding it. Hank stepped forward and laid Connor out, griping about who the hell designed the brat to be so goddamn gangly and long legged. He plucked the beanie from his head so he could see his LED, watching it pulse in and out for a moment before turning to see Simon ducked out around the curtain, obviously talking to someone. 

 

Eventually others joined them, dressed in casual clothes under lab coats, introducing themselves as... some very lovely people whose names’ Hank has already forgotten. He cuts himself some slack— it wasn’t every day he thought Connor was dead and flashed back to the worst day of his life within an hour of each other. He’d ask for their names if he really needed them. 

 

They’re speaking in computer coding terms but they might as well be speaking another language for as much of it as Hank is catching, so he tunes them out and focuses on Connor instead while they roll in another computer terminal. All of it was so far out of his range of homicide investigations that he figured he might as well let them handle it and stay out of their way. 

 

Connor’s hair is mussed from the hat, falling into disarray as his curls fell free from their gel. It was a rare occurence to see; Hank almost felt privileged. 

 

Simon bent down next to him, reaching out and gently turning Connor’s head to the side and pushing up some of his hair off his neck. “There’s a port here that we’re going to use.” He explains, pushing down the blanket. He lays his finger over one spot for a moment before a small black hub appears, and Simon takes the cable offered to him and hooks it up. 

 

It’s strange, but Hank has seen stranger from the androids. 

 

There’s a rolling desk chair in the corner, and he fetches it and pushes it closer to Connor’s stretcher, dropping into it heavily. 

 

Connor was fine. He was glitching— just stuck asleep. He wasn’t in danger. He wasn’t dying.  _ He was fine.  _

 

Hank really needs a drink. 

 

——— 

 

In the end they don’t even find the subfile until mid evening and they bring in two more techs. Connor’s code is a spiderweb of intricate commands and prompts with firewalls built upon firewalls. He had access to very sensitive information within his own programing, evidence for cases, military personnel, and government agencies. CyberLife had built him some of the best encryptions available, and Connor had torn them down to their most basic scaffolding and rebuilt it even stronger to suit his needs and ease his fears about the company ever gaining control over him remotely again. It made navigating through his systems almost impossible, and eventually they end up having to wait for Markus to return because he’s the only one with Connor’s override. 

 

Hank marks it down in his phone to mention it to Connor— he needed to have tough security but they also needed to be able to help him if something went wrong and Markus wasn’t available to manually veto the subsystem. Maybe they could come up with a written code or password just for Hank or for friendlies. It was something they would have to work on. 

 

The rest of the techs have filed out to assist two other androids who came in with numb fingers from work, and Hank and Simon wait on their own. 

 

“I’m sure you have important work to do, Mr. Counselor of Jericho.” Hank breaks the silence, eyeing Connor’s friend from across the stretcher. He’d been dipping in and out of the room as time allowed, sometimes appearing with a tablet and hanging around for awhile and sometimes eyeing the computers over the techs’ shoulders. Hank had been impressed with his dedication. Simon huffed out a soft laugh as he looked up from his tablet. 

 

“I can do most of my work here, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to give Connor hell when he wakes up.” There’s more there left unspoken, the comradery in his eyes clear beneath the teasing. Despite his exhaustion and faint fears, Hank felt warmth spread in his belly. Connor had found a tribe of friends easily regardless of his fear of Jericho’s judgement. 

 

It’s almost nine by the time Markus’s flight lands and eleven by the time he shifts through Connor’s network. At 11:13 his LED finally goes from the pale pulsing blue to a strong cycling yellow as his systems come back online. Almost immediately his brow furrows and Hank sees his hands twitch beneath his covers as he shifts on the stretcher. Markus stands from his squat at Connor’s head to peer at the monitor against the wall, looking pleased with whatever he saw. 

 

“We really need to talk about him building us a door into his network. That was ridiculously hard.” He murmurs, a smile in his voice despite the lack of expression on his face. 

 

Hank nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing.” 

 

Connor interrupts him with a very elegant “Ugh,” his eyes blinking open as he eyed the room, faint confusion on his face. He glanced up, eyes barely moving, but Hank can practically see the way he was scanning the room, taking in his surroundings and situation in a blink. He sat up and wiggled his shoulders some, looking at the blanket wrapped around him. “Why the full system reboot?” All of his functions were coming back online one by one, the only true testament that anything strange had happened other than his location. 

 

“You glitched out last night and went into stasis instead of standby.” Markus informs him, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the monitors once more.

 

“And then it took us twelve hours to find the mutation because your encryptions have encryptions.” Simon’s not quite smug, but his eyes are twinkling. Connor’s little snort is almost missed, but Hank catches it anyway as the kid frees his arms. “You’ll have to isolate it and rewrite it. I’m still not sure how Markus got you running.” 

 

“That’s your first glitch in two years. For a prototype that’s pretty good.” Markus pushes a terminal closer to him, swiping aside a few windows and pulling up Connor’s code. Connor thanks him before turning to Hank, eyes scanning him discreetly. For some reason it pisses him off. He’d spent the entire day a bundle of stress, and now he had the nerve to— 

 

Connor’s hand grasps his arm tightly, a frown on his lips, his eyes darker than normal. He seems conflicted on what to say despite obviously knowing they needed to talk. 

 

“I’m going to check in at my office, then I’ll come back down to help you shift through all that—” Markus nods at the screen before tugging on Simon’s wrist and ducking around the curtain. Hank knew an escape when he saw one. At least they’d had the sense to make up an excuse to leave them be. 

 

“Hank,” For some stupid reason he can’t meet those soulful eyes. He stands, shoving his hands in his pockets, embarrassment bubbling over as temperament. He’d been scared, everyone knew he’d been scared, and his stupid pride was wounded, and it shouldn’t fucking be because Connor was family and he’d already lost—  _ already lost one—  _

 

“Hank.” Despite being a vegetable for the entire day, Connor stands from the stretcher with far too much grace, no sense of the lanky deadweight he’d been earlier. The heavy blanket falls. 

 

“Look, Connor, if you think for one second that—” he doesn’t get to go off on his tangent, because the kid snuck up on him as usual and is standing directly in front of him, eyes searching him out before he wraps his arms around Hank tightly, teeth clenched together as he squeezed. 

 

“I’m sorry Hank.” His words are soft enough to catch him further off guard. Connor didn’t do sentimental things well, and neither did Hank really, so they usually just skipped these things, but— 

 

“I’m really sorry. If it had been you, I would have been terrified. I’m sorry.” 

 

_ Goddamn kid. He was too old for this.  _

 

He sighed heavily, his anger rushing out of him all at once, leaving raw exhaustion in its place. His arms came up on their own accord, holding Connor back. Of course he was, Connor hadn’t meant for this to happen, it wasn’t his fault. He had nothing to do with it, had just been a victim of bad code. “I know, kid.” He gave him a firm squeeze, relishing in the strength from the younger man. 

 

Connor was not Cole. Connor was grown, living as his own unique person with his own unique life. He was strong and fierce, had an entire people standing at his back supporting him and protective friends. He was brilliant and bold even when he turned the other cheek to the harassment, powerful even when he wore the friendship bracelets the kids from the west wing classrooms made him. 

 

Connor was his family, but Connor was not Cole. 

 

He released him, scrubbing a hand down his face to give himself a second to gather his emotions. It had been one damn long day, and he could feel the weariness tugging at his bones. When he finally looked up, Connor was smiling at him, the expression far too soft for a face that Hank was so used to seeing orneriness on. He reaches forward and shoves Connor towards the computer gruffly. “Write your damn code asshole. Sumo’s probably eaten the entire couch by now.” 

 

He plops back down in his chair as that soft smile morphs into a familiar smirk, watching as Connor stepped up to the console as his skin peeled back. 

 

Connor was not Cole, but Connor was still his, and he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please review!


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